


A Clasp of the Hand

by fourletterepithet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 17:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourletterepithet/pseuds/fourletterepithet
Summary: Dorian is helped during the Siege of Adamant by a Warden recruit who turns out to be the previously-presumed-dead Felix Alexius.





	A Clasp of the Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TypingBosmer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypingBosmer/gifts).

_ Fasta vass. _

Dorian lifted a hand to block the scouring wind from his eyes and squinted. Adamant fairly _ swarmed _ with them; the blue-and-silver of the Grey Wardens and winged helmets flitted across the battlements, winking in the sunlight as the Inquisition’s forces arranged themselves just beyond the great walls. The air was thick with tension. 

And _ sand_. 

It made for an excellent exfoliant, he supposed, but the Western Approach finally gave him reason to toast Skyhold’s strange, permanent autumn. Or spring. Or autumnal-spring. It didn’t matter. This place made the South’s cold seem pleasant in comparison. 

The creaking of the trebuchets as they were wound drew him out of his thoughts. Cullen shouted something he couldn’t hear over the wind. The engineers yanked the trigger ropes, flinging the payloads-gargantuan boulders inscribed with fire mines, the spells placed by Vivienne herself-towards Adamant.

The boulders landed with bone-rattling force. The Wardens scrambled. The explosions were grand, bodies flew, the wall was breached in sight of the Breach, ah-blah-blah-_ blah _ , it was all very flashy and predicted well in advance. The fall of the Wardens _ was _ tragic, but they had sold themselves, body and soul, to Corypheus. He could stir little sympathy for them.

Dorian gave his new staff an experimental spin. A gift from Inquisitor Yavanna; the yew the shaft was comprised of and the six-star ruby worked into the branching tip were items she had found herself. The balance was fabulous, and the grip molded itself to his hand immediately. And he _ itched _for a distraction. 

_ Dorian trembled, fists clenched. “There are worse things than dying,” he snarled. “Your words. What weight does suicide carry by your scale, I wonder?” Felix tugged the hem of his collar a little higher and smiled sadly, saying nothing. Dorian grit his teeth, his neck cramping from the effort, and began to pace the floor. _

_ “You know that would accomplish nothing,” Felix sighed, finally stirred to reply. “I may be Gereon Alexius’ son, but I am also Somniari. My physical presence will loan-” _

_ “_**_Vishante kaffas_ ** _ , Felix, you could write a fucking letter to Maevaris and have _ her _ do it."_

_ “Dorian,” he said, and forked a hand over his close-cropped curls. “**I** have to do this.__ This,”-he waved a hand at the greenish wash of light cast permanently over the floor of what he called his room’s “Breach-front view”-”was created by my father. By Tevinter. By _ ** _us_**_. I have the opportunity to help repair the damage we caused. Before I-” He broke off and tugged at his collar again. His veins jumped, dark gray, black, pulsating beneath his skin, reaching almost to his eyes. Dorian stopped pacing and stared at him as his throat tightened. Felix swallowed. “Maker allowing, I’ll see this through. I will accept your anger, but I’d prefer to have your blessing.” _

He planted the blade in the shifting sands and sent his magic questing into the corpse of an unfortunate Warden. An inquiry. The mark the sundered spirit left behind, the echo, surged along the trail leading back to him. Dorian grabbed it, _ bound _it to him, and tendrils of violet sprouted from the ground to wrap around the corpse before it rose to its feet with a hiss. Its former compatriots fell back with cries of alarm as it attacked them. 

And so it went. Yavanna, Cassandra, Varric, and Vivienne had split off some time ago to clear the battlements. Dorian and the rest stayed below. The Iron Bull, he noted with a roll of his eyes, kept well clear of him. Qunari. A _ Ben-Hassrath spy, _ no less. Kaffas. He wondered what Felix would--

No. Change it.

Alexius was there, somewhere, doubtless trailing behind Yavanna like a lost little-

_ No _ . ** _Change_ ** it. He loaned no voice to the words, but his lips formed around them anyway as he killed, and harvested, and killed, pushing further and further into the fortress. The _ damn _ Gray Wardens and their _ damn demons _were getting on his- 

A shriek rent the air. Dorian wheeled to face a despair demon as its doubled teeth slung open, a spell blooming and boiling in its maw. Wild-eyed, he backed into a wall. _ Unfortunate _ . _ Where was everyone else? _ Too late, too late, too _ late _-

Something with damnedably pointy shoulder guards rammed into his left side. Dorian slammed and skidded across freshly exposed flagstone and piles of sand and landed beside the blank-eyed face of another Warden’s body. He reared away and pivoted at the waist to face his-his what? Savior? Attacker? 

The Warden-and it _ was _ a Warden, his gear new but spattered with ichor-braced a shield against the despair demon’s beam of ice. The temperature plunged, frost crackling at Dorian’s knees before he scrambled to his feet and brought his staff to bear. The Warden proved to be a most excellent distraction. A whoosh, a roar, and a column of fire engulfed the demon.

Dorian gathered the mists of the Fade around him and streaked for the door. He whirled out of it, swinging his staff hard to deflect an anticipated strike-

He swung at air. The Warden stood with his arms folded, leaning against the wall Dorian had just been thwarted by with an air of amusement. “I _ did _ help you just now, you realize,” he said. A chime of familiarity rang in Dorian’s head. He frowned. “You know, 'the pen is mightier than the sword’ is a galling lie,” sighed the Warden. The slim build--how did he not notice how the fabric of his uniform hangs so loose from his body?-the accent-the _ voice-” _I don’t see how writing a strongly-worded letter would have done something about that,” he continued, jerking his head towards the greenish sludge that was once the demon. “Good thing Father insisted I receive martial training.” The Warden tilted his head at Dorian.

Dorian stood staring at the man. There was a twinkle in his eye behind his visor, and Dorian’s mouth went dry. “Take off your helmet,” he rasped.

The other man jerked his head back. “Aren’t you moving a little fast, mage? Dinner, theatre, and at least _ one _rose before I disrobe-”

_Dorian hung his head. "Vitae benefaria," he husked, and swept out of Felix's room._

The mage’s laugh was brittle. He ran a hand down his face. "Felix-"

The Warden grinned, and removed his helmet in time for Dorian to clasp his arms around him. Felix dropped the helmet to the sand beneath them and clapped Dorian on the back as his grief, and relief, broke around him.


End file.
